


Sleepwalking

by ricochet



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dreamwalking, Halfway between angst and fluff, M/M, fundraiser fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 12:57:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricochet/pseuds/ricochet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams are a funny thing when you're a telepath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepwalking

The walls of the citadel rose stark and nearly black against the colourless sky, the crest of it lost in the glare. The dark red metal radiated heat, much as Erik’s body had years ago, curled under the covers in a cold room.

A shadow flickered, cast down by fabric moving in the wind.

Charles opened his mouth: "Erik."

No answer came as the breeze tugged at the ends of his hair. It was brown here, the way it had been in his thirties and younger, no hint of thinning or grey.

The labyrinth sprawled behind him, its twisting paths leaking heat into the ground. Nothing but dust moved on the plane between its walls and the foot of the citadel. The urge to call out again, to demand an answer rose in his chest, but Charles swallowed it. None of them had time for him to run the labyrinth again.

A curl of metal twisted free of the wall, its origin lost in the glare. Against the pale sky it looked like long hair caught by the wind before it braided itself into cables and coiled down the citadel into the thin rungs of an uneven ladder. Charles laughed, and the small sound was smothered by the dust of Erik's defenses. Even so, Charles was sincerely delighted. If, as he placed his foot on the third rung and launched himself into his ascent, he built a grin around the urge to call out for Rapunzel, no other mind in the world need ever know.

The higher he climbed, the stronger the wind became. At two-thirds of the way up, it could tug the cloth of his shirt free from the skin of his back. The rush of air made him shiver, and left gooseflesh along the nape of his neck. Under the roar of it, came the nearly hidden slither of the ladder rungs uncoiling and melting back into the citadel walls. The last few yards of the climb were a race against the fall. Charles scrambled over the edge of the battlements, warm metal dragging against his stomach and thighs. He landed in an undignified sprawl, and looked up to the sound of Erik’s laughter.

Erik was bareheaded and capeless where he stood near another parapet, backlit by the pale, brittle sky. The echo of a smile remained at the corner of his eye, but he kept a measured distance between them. “I’m dreaming,” he said after a moment. At most, it was only half a question.

“Of course you are.” Charles pushed to his feet. Dust clung to the heels of his hands and the front of his clothes. He knew he’d spend the next week washing phantom grit out of his hair. “I’ve not seen you in nearly a week. Haven’t you been sleeping?”

“Cat naps,” Erik shrugged. His eyes flicked over the sturdy boots and army issue clothes Charles was wearing before meeting his eyes again. “This isn’t a social call.”

Charles took a step toward him. When he came to Erik this way, he was never sure if it was Erik’s mind or his own that let him do it. He kept his hands open-palmed and low at his sides. “No. Are you aware Ms. Frost seems to have left a scattering of psychic alerts throughout the labyrinth?”

“That can’t possibly be the point of your visit. Why are you here, Charles?”

Stubborn, infuriating man, Charles thought, far too fond for Erik to ever hear. “I’ll answer that after I remove Ms. Frost’s little security additions.”

The look Erik gave him ached. “Those additions were placed with my approval, Charels, as well you know. Why are you here?”

He’d wanted, in some cringing, petty corner of himself, to be wrong. To be able to stretch his mind around Frost’s little snares and cast them out of Erik’s mind into nothing. It hurt, but there wasn’t time to be disappointed. “Colonel Weiss received credible information of your whereabouts this morning. Three teams armed with ceramics and some kind of EM disrupter mobilized thirty minutes ago. If you and the others are still in Panama, you’d be better served to vacate the area.”

Where laughter hadn’t, fury moved Erik toward him. Charles swallowed the bitter lack of surprise and stood his ground.

“And when did you receive credible information of my whereabouts?” Erik crowded into his space. He didn’t tower over Charles the way he seemed to think, for all his imposing charisma, but he did make the most of the height advantage he had.

From a hand’s length away, Erik gave off more heat than the walls of the maze or the citadel combined. In another moment, Charles would have pressed into it, soaked himself in it until his skin was saturated, and hoarded it against the inevitable absence. He tilted his head back so he could hold Erik’s gaze. “Thirty minutes ago, give or take. Wake quickly, Erik.”

In the immediate aftermath of Cuba, Charles had learned to read Erik’s expressions despite the shadows of the helmet. The tangle of rage and gratitude on Erik’s face was familiar, but no less arresting. If anything could be sharper in a dreamscape than the waking world, the half-wild adoration in Erik’s eyes might be it.

Charles smiled to match.

The kiss landed with all the restraint of a rocket attack; Erik’s mouth on his too hot and wet and immediate for Charles to keep his thoughts braced and ordered in the storm of it. He didn’t try, surrendering instead to the flood tide of longing that was all he and Erik ever managed to leave each other. It was always easy to drop into the pull and rush of Erik’s presence, and it was easier than ever like this, already surrounded by Erik’s mind, the taste of his mouth nearly an afterthought. Charles reveled in the feel of it.

Erik pulled back to speak, but not far. His lips brushed the curve of Charles’ cheek, every word another fractured kiss cutting into the skin. His breath was uneven, and his voice came ragged out of his mouth. “I can tell you-”

Charles kissed him again, brief and hard, to cut him off. The heat of Erik’s shoulder blade burned against the palm of Charles’ hand. Perhaps the next time he visited he’d find his lifeline seared away, Erik’s presence wiping his palm clean of any other mark. “No need,” he said. The shape of the words ached where they pressed against the roof of his mouth, dragged at the edges of his tongue. “I’ll find you.”


End file.
